


Lunch Privileges

by cielchat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, and Smooching, food is actually something that can be a love language, just being young and having a normal crush, remember being gay in high school and not having a good time, well this is therapy for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielchat/pseuds/cielchat
Summary: “Who’s the third bento for,” ‘Tsumu asks, poking his abnormally large nose into Osamu’s business.“Suna,” he grunts.“Suna? SUna rINtArOU?!” Atsumu starts grinning like a madman, so Osamu delivers a vicious jab placed well between his ribs that makes Atsumu shriek like the pig he is.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103
Collections: SunaOsa





	Lunch Privileges

Osamu’s crush starts when Suna Rintarou comes to the school fair on Saturday in street clothes instead of the uniform. It’s some dark green longsleeve—tight as fuck around his chest—and baggy slacks and a dark floral blazer hanging off his arm. He chokes on the onigiri he has in his mouth and Atsumu slaps him as hard as he can on his back.

“That doesn’t help, ‘Tsumu,” he growls when he’s recovered. 

“I know,” Atsumu says. “I’m not gonna pass up a chance to hit you though.”

Osamu decides not to beat up Atsumu this time in favor of watching sexy Tokyo e-boy Suna Rintarou slink across the lawn towards them. He didn’t realize he had a thing for _boys_ in _croptops_. Longsleeve croptops. Tummy-baring ab-revealing shirts. 

“SUNA!” Atsumu calls, arms outstretched. Osamu rethinks his decision to not hit him.

“Miya spawn,” Suna says, and then slides his gaze over to Osamu. He might have forgotten how to talk. “Can you come help me win a teddy bear?”

“Me?” Osamu and Atsumu ask at the same time.

“’Samu,” Suna answers. Osamu’s heart leaps and Atsumu pouts.   
“What’s wrong with me?”

“Your hair doesn’t match my outfit,” Suna tells him pettily, and grabs Osamu’s wrist to drag him away. Osamu goes willingly, sticking out his tongue at Atsumu who’s busy calling him ‘nothing more than an accessory’. Once their out of earshot, Suna turns to him and says “I just like you more than him.”

“Most people do,” Osamu says, both a little proud and guilty. He’s distracted by the silver jewelry on Suna’s neck.

“No, I know,” Suna says. “I don’t mean it like that, I like Atsumu just fine, as bitchy as he is. I just like you more.”

“Nice.” Osamu can’t think of anything better to say. “So. What’s the bear you want?”

Suna pulls up in front of a wanage stall, and then points at a fluffy black teddy bear at the very top of the prize wall. “I’m shit at ring tossing.”  
Osamu pointedly does not make any promises about his own ability at ring tossing, but silently prays to every god he’s ever heard of that he gets the bear. Suna blinks at him with those sexy narrow eyes and smiles when Osamu pulls out his purse. Nice. “Three rings,” he says to the guy running the stall.

Osamu’s just generally good at things. He picked up volleyball just fine. He can make any recipe he tries his hand at by the third try. This good fortune, thankfully, translates to ring tossing pretty well. He hits the target peg with all three rings and the onlookers gasp. The stall manager raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Which one do you want?”  
Osamu looks at Suna, who steps forward and points at the fluffy bear. “That one.”

“So why’d you want the bear,” Osamu asks as they walk away, Suna cuddling the prize close to his chest. Osamu doesn’t like feeling jealous of a stuffed animal. “Gift for a girlfriend?”

“Nope, I’m gay.”

“Oh, mood.” Osamu’s heart is about to fall out of his mouth. Stupid nerves. “For a boyfriend then?”

“Nope, I’m single. I just liked the bear.”

Osamu reaches over and pets the bear’s head. It really is very soft. “Wanna get some takoyaki with me? You’re paying.”

“Wow, so tempting.” Suna follows him to the fried food stand anyways, the one run by Osamu’s favorite auntie who had always put the right amount of seasoning on the octopus, and dutifully pulls out his wallet when Osamu orders the same amount of takoyaki as the rings cost. Suna’s much tidier about eating the little balls; Osamu eats with his fingers and licks them clean.

“That wasn’t a lot, did you want another tray?” Oh, Osamu’s gonna have it hard. He throws away the empty tray instead.

“Nah. I plan on eating at every stall here so I can’t fill up on takoyaki.” He looks around for his next target specifically to avoid gazing deep into Suna’s eyes. Or at any other part of his body. “I’m thinking boba would slap.”

“Hmm,” Suna hums, readjusts his teddy bear and then starts to slink towards the exact boba stall Osamu was looking at. The bear matches the rest of his outfit, Osamu notices. Does he just collect things with the same aesthetic as him? That would include Osamu, he realizes, and self-conciously reaches up to fluff his silver hair. He takes too long to start walking and Suna looks for him over his shoulder; Osamu catches up with him.

“Hey,” Osamu says in his best nonchalant voice, “I’m making bentos for tomorrow. D’ya want one?”

“Oh. Sure.”

“Cool. Don’t bring a lunch then.” _Good job, ‘Samu. Very smooth, very job._

“Thanks, ‘Samu.”  
Suna has holes ribbing the side of his shirt. Osamu wants to poke his fingers in.

____________________________

He gets up even earlier than he planned on Sunday, well before morning practice and before he usually does when he makes bentos for him and ‘Tsumu. This is no mere lunch. This isn’t even a practice bento to take a picture of for his foodstagram or menu portfolio. No, this has much higher stakes. He sets rice to cook and starts mixing food dye.

His grandma appears when he’s struggling with the tamagoyaki.

“Help,” he says pitifully. She takes over by scraping his mess of eggs onto a plate and starting over entirely. He loves his grandma.

“This is a cute obento,” she says. “If you cut the corners of the tamago you can create hearts.”  
“Won’t that be a little too forward?” He stacks the karaage.

“Osamu,” she chides. “You’re a handsome young man. Anyone who rejects you is made of shit.”

He makes one (1) heart out of the tamagoyaki and places it in the corner. He really, really loves his grandma.

“Who’s the third bento for,” ‘Tsumu asks, poking his abnormally large nose into Osamu’s business.

“Suna,” he grunts.

“Suna? SUna rINtArOU?!” Atsumu starts grinning like a madman, so Osamu delivers a vicious jab placed well between his ribs that makes Atsumu shriek like the pig he is. Before he can follow it up with a punch to the belly their mom appears and screams at them for being too loud, entirely uncaring of the irony. Osamu, pouting, goes back to arranging the pickled daikon on the fox made of rice. He sees Atsumu snatch his own bento away as if he’s afraid Osamu will retract it in revenge. Smart boy.

He gives Suna the bento once morning practice is over—their coach is cruel (or smart) enough to have them practice on Sundays but not cruel enough to have them practice twice, but practice goes long enough that the boys usually eat lunch together anyways. Aran and Kita are nearby. Kita doesn’t seem to care where he sits to eat, as long as he says his grace, but Aran always seems to put Kita in between himself and the twins. So mean, Aran, Osamu’s not as much of a dipshit as Atsumu is, and he thinks he should get a little recognition for that. Aran doesn’t care.

Suna opens the top of the bento and his mouth opens a little bit. It’s maybe as far as he’s ever gotten from his usual bored face. “Woooowwwwwwww.”

“It’s nothing,” Osamu says. Atsumu snorts, and Osamu wants to hit him so bad but knows he’d just be incriminating himself more. He pointedly stops looking at Suna, who’s taking a bite.

“It’s really good,” he says, after chewing. And swallowing. With his mouth shut. Maybe he likes Suna so much because he’s not a pig like Atsumu. “Will you marry me and make me one of these every day?”

Motherfucker. Osamu’s eyes go wide as hell, still staring down at his own—admittedly equally delicious—bento. “Sure,” he says in a very normal tone of voice. He notices that Aran has his eyes closed again. What a determinedly unobservant sunuvabitch. 

He stuffs his face with rice to have an excuse for not being able to carry out a conversation. Suna doesn’t seem to mind, continuing to eat. Atsumu prattles on as usual with his mouth full. 

“Hey,” Suna says later, once they’re all finished lunch. The sun came out and Suna had casually said something about a nap before laying his head down in Osamu’s lap. Murder by spontaneous combustion? Suna seems like a crafty enough bitch to do such a thing.

“Hey,” he responds, tapping his finger on Suna’s nose. He wrinkles it and his eyes cross. His eyelashes are unfair, Osamu thinks. 

“Wanna come shopping with me? I wanted to get some clothes in Sannomiya.”

Osamu spends a moment trying to figure out how to respond. The answer is yes, obviously, but he needs to not come off as eager as a volleyball fangirl with a personalized poster. “Sure. There’s a café there I wanted to try.”

“It’s settled, then,” Suna hums, and closes his eyes again. He doesn’t leave Osamu’s lap, and Osamu tries to figure out if this is a blessing or a curse. Atsumu makes a face at him and Osamu subtly flips him off. It’s not subtle enough, because Kita catches him and lifts an eyebrow. Osamu pouts and blushes. It was Atsumu’s fault in the first place. 

____________________________________________________

Suna appears in the jeans and Osamu thinks that maybe he’s about to die and immediately get sent to horny jail hell. He wants to tug on the belt loops of the jeans until Suna’s in arm’s reach. He wants to rip those jeans off immediately. He wants Suna to throw away all his other pairs of pants and only wear those jeans from now on.

Suna turns so he can see the back. What fresh hell. “How do they look?”

“I want to suck your dick like a milkshake,” Osamu mutters.

“What?”

“I said I’m lack toast in taller ants.”

“Damn,” Suna sighs. “I thought you said you wanted to suck my dick like a milkshake.”

“That’s gay, bro,” Osamu tells him. He fluffs his crewneck sweatshirt. “Handjobs only.”

“Bet,” Suna tries.

Osamu swallows and opens his mouth, but another boy walks into the fitting room and they both fall silent. Suna retreats behind the door and latches it.

“No. Stop. Come back.” Osamu hopes he’s not being loud enough for the other boy to hear, but luckily the fitting room is pretty large.

“I have something better,” Suna hisses, voice nearly muffled by the rustling of clothes. He opens the door again, quite a lot more hesitantly, but Osamu forgets about everything once he sees Suna in the skirt.

“Well?”

Osamu doesn’t speak.

“’Samu.”

“Uhhhhhhh. Yeah. Looks good.”  
“I’m gonna assume you like it,” Suna says, awkwardly smoothing the front. “Until told otherwise.”

“You look good,” Osamu says truthfully. “Skirt or pants.”

“Cute.” He peeps a blush before the door closes again. When Suna reemerges, school uniform back on and clothes folded in his arms, he’s back to his unruffled self. Osamu follows him to the checkout counter where he plops the entire pile down.

“All of this?” The girl asks, bored.

“Yep.”

She unfolds, scans, and folds everything efficiently without a second glance. “Six thousand four hundred fourty three yen. Want a bag?”

Osamu watches this process with way to much adrenaline in his veins. He really wants to get out of the store, the plaza, and back to his house as fast as possible. Was horny jail just standing at a checkout counter forever while the hot boy on his volleyball team that maybe has a thing for him slowly buys a hot as fuck skirt and some hot as fuck pants?

He follows Suna out of the store dutifully. “You want to go to that café, right?” Suna asks.

He’s perfect. Osamu wants to propose. “I’m good, actually. Want to come over to my place?”

“How far away do you live?”

“Other side of Kanagawa’s supply store.” _Please say yes please say yes please say yes._

“Okay.”

The train ride is about to be hell. Osamu pulls out his phone and fires a text to Atsumu: _“dont fucking come home early on the pain of death”_

_“death death?”_

_“lunch privileges revoked”_

_“ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ okay”_

“Nice house,” Suna says when they’re standing in front of it. Osamu leads him in the front gate and holds open the front door while they both kick off their shoes. “I wanna see your room.”

“Smooth,” Osamu says. “Knew you wanted to get me into bed.”

“That’s heterophobic,” Suna says. “Fellas is it gay to look for childhood blackmail.”

“Everything you do is gay,” Osamu points out in typical teenage boy humor, but opens the door to his room and crosses over to the window to lift the blinds.

“Which one is yours?” Suna’s pointing to the bunk beds, blankets made and unrumpled. 

“Bottom,” Osamu answers. Suna drops his bags on the floor and collapses on his back on the bed, gazing up at him with impossibly sexy eyes. His stomach does a dumb little flip and he’s not sure if it’s because it’s hot that Suna’s on his bed or because it’s cute that Suna’s in his room. Osamu sits on the edge of the bed shyly. “So….D’ya wanna watch the latest fifa game?”

He’s such a chicken.

Luckily Suna is not a coward like him. Definitely not. They haven’t made it five minutes into the game—Ronaldo scored the first point already—and Suna’s cuddled up to him, cheek resting on his shoulder and arm tucked under his own. He’s playing with Osamu’s fingers too. Fuck.

Ronaldo scores again and Osamu turns to look at Suna, probably intending to say something. Unfortunately for his already empty head no thoughts brain, Suna looks up at him before he can form words and Osamu forgets how to talk. Damn it, when did his heart start beating so loud? Suna probably takes pity on him though, and very obviously looks down at Osamu’s lips before flicking his eyes back up again, so Osamu gets a clue, leans in and kisses him.

It’s sort of awkward and natural all at once, but Suna makes it better by pushing Osamu’s laptop out of the way and wiggles closer so that he’s nearly lying on top of him, slotting their legs together. Osamu winds his arms around his waist and pulls him closer.   
“You’re dumb,” Suna mumbles into his mouth. 

“I made a bento for you,” Osamu says, non sequiturial, though it makes sense in his brain. Suna blissfully ignores him and deigns to keep on kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> if ronaldo does not actually play in fifa do not tell me i do not care i yam gay


End file.
